


The Bear's Cub

by somethingclever



Series: Tim IS a caring and nurturing person. [12]
Category: Justified
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-19 22:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11907576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingclever/pseuds/somethingclever
Summary: Everyone knows not to mess with a female bear with cubs.Unfortunately, not everyone realizes that a father can be every bit as dangerous.Tim's doing his best not to clutch his pearls, here, but his kid just disappeared from a zoo, and forgive him if that makes him a little... combative.





	1. Chapter 1

Artie snuffled back tears.  He was a big boy, and a brave boy, and his daddy and Raylan were going to come find him, and he would go home.  He'd said that to the mean man, and he'd laughed.  That made Artie angry, and he spit at him, which daddy had said was very bad, and he shouldn't do to nice people.

He wasn't a bit nice, so Artie figured spitting at him was fair.  That's when the man hit him, hard, making his ears ring and his nose bleed and the whole side of his face hurt.  He bit his lip and hoped daddy got there soon. 

 

This was scary. 

 

"My dad's the best shot in the world," Artie choked, trying to be brave, "If you don't let me go, he'll... he'll shoot you."

 

"We're counting on that," the man smiled, all teeth, like a crocodile, "And don't worry,  _chicito_ , we'll let you go, when he comes."

 

That was somehow even scarier. 

 

*

How the fuck do you lose a six year old on a field trip? and how the fuck do you, when you lose a six year old on a field trip, not realize it for fifteen minutes? And how the fuck do you, when you do realize it, not immediately,  _immediately_  call the police?

 

That was how his son had been fucking  _abducted_ , and nobody called the cops for forty-five fucking minutes.

 

He was going to kill someone.  

 

"Come on, come on, pick up, pick up, pickuppickuppickup," he pleaded with Raylan, "Pick  _up_!"

 

Finally, Raylan answered, "For fuck's sake, Tim, I was in a meeting- _"_

"Somebody kidnapped Artie," Tim said, "I'm on my way now, but you're closer, and-"

 

"Fuck. Dan!" he heard Raylan pull the phone away, "Dan, I gotta go - no, I don't care - Tim's kid got kidnapped. Yeah, we're sure he ain't just wandered off. Yeah. I'll try not to aggravate 'em." he came back on the line, "Where do I need to go, his school?"

 

"No," Tim said, "They were out at a goddamn field trip, to the- to the zoo. The big one, up 'bove Homestead."

 

"Shit. Do you have any details yet?"

 

"Just that they thought he was hiding for  _half an hour_ ," Tim snarled, "And then when they got to security, saw people dressed as groundskeepers pick him out of the end of the trail of kids, shove him in a bag, and drag him to a truck.  It's been," he glanced at his clock and laid on the horn, "MOVE! FOR FUCK'S SAKE! It's been almost two hours, Raylan."

 

His baby could already be dead.

 

"We'll find him."

 

"Don't. I've done this too long. We have to move."

 

"FBI?"

 

"On the scene. Already called my buddy, too. He might be able to get the BAU involved, not that they're much goddamn help."

 

"Can be, sometimes."

 

"How far are you out?"

 

"'Nother five minutes. Need me on the line?"

 

"No. I've got calls to make." he hung up on Raylan, and dialled Bentley.

 

Bentley had been the buddy he'd used to get into wetwork to begin with, and he was still in it.  They saw each other every few years, and emailled every few months. Mostly just bullshit, but sometimes he wanted Tim's opinion on a setup.

 

If anybody would know if this was bigger than some opportunistic fucker, it was Bentley. 

 

Bentley picked up on the second ring, "Gutterson, my man, it's not time for our quarterly phonecall!"

 

"Are there any contracts out on me?"

 

"There's been three outstanding on you for, god,  _years_ ," Bentley answered, "Two in the middle east, one in the United States."

 

"My kid just got kidnapped, and I..."

 

"Shit. Artie. Okay, give me ten minutes, I'll get you what I can."

 

"And Bentley?"

 

"Yeah, buddy?"

 

"What's your going rate, these days?" Tim didn't need the money he'd saved to retire, he didn't  _need_ it, and he could work until he fuckin' dropped, if he had to, but his  _baby_ -

 

"If that little guy isn't safe and sound in time for a bedtime story, I'm pro bono, including cleanup."

 

"Thanks, Bentley."

 

Finally, the zoo! He slipped under the line, making a straight shot for the hat he could see amongst the sea of ballcaps and dickhead trooper hats. 

 

"Any news?"

 

"No," the police officer said, "You're the father?"

 

"Yeah," Tim said, "Tim Gutterson, hi."

 

"Former Marshal," Raylan said, "And Army sniper."

 

"We're going to have to ask that you keep out of the investigation, as I was just telling your partner."

 

"That's a reasonable request," Tim nodded, "I can see why you're making it."

 

"But you're not going to do that, are you?"

 

"Well, no."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Gutterson is Timothy Gutterson's son in any way that matters. That means they made a mistake kidnapping him.

Tim looked over the footage Raylan had recorded on his phone, and forwarded it to Bentley. There wasn't much he could do, except start shitkicking, and he didn't want to kick shit until he knew where the hornet's nest  _was._

 

His phone buzzed - an unknown number, sending a photograph.

 

_Target. You have eight hours to eliminate this target, or else._

 

 _Let me see my son_  Tim texted back.

 

The phone pinged, and he bit back a whimper. There was blood on his babies' face.

 

He'd show  _them_  a goddamn target...

 

He passed the phone to Raylan without comment.  Raylan took one look and went pale, looking up at him.

 

"That's one of our witnesses."

 

*

They shut him in a room and locked the door.  Artie worked on wriggling himself loose - they tied him up tighter than Willa had with her jump rope, but they'd used duct tape on his wrists, over his shirt. So, all he had to do was wriggle his arms up in his sleeves and then get his shirt off.

 

It took a lot of work, and he was sweaty by the time he was done, but he got his arms up into his body and then loose.  He peeled the tape off his face and got up, looking around.  There was a window - could he open it? he dragged his chair over to it, and peeked outside.  There was nobody out there, and while the window didn't open a  _lot_ , he was skinny and scared.  He barely even felt the scrapes on his back as he pulled himself up the wall - just like climbing rocks with daddy - and out the little gap. He didn't land well, sending jolts and tingles all up his left arm.  

 

He didn't scream, because if he did, they'd find him, and hurt daddy.  He'd heard them talking in Spanish and English, mixed - he'd learned from watching TV and from Mr. Largo, the bus driver, and his friend Diego (not like the show, bro, jeez, I'm too old for that baby crap!).  They wanted his dad to kill somebody the Marshals were protecting.  And then they would kill him, because he'd killed somebody they liked.

 

Artie didn't know what to make of that, but he didn't want to die, and he didn't want his dad to die, or to kill anybody.  

 

He ran away as fast as he could.  Find a police officer, he thought, find the police, or - what did dad always say? Okay. Find a police officer or a mom with kids.

 

He came out of the alley and onto a busy street, people everywhere.  He walked as fast as he could, trying to look like dad did when he was upset about something.  "Hey, kid!" a man called, coming off a porch, shouting over the music, "You okay,  _hijo?_ "

 

Artie nodded and kept walking, a little faster.

 

"Jeez, look at his  _face_ ," someone said, "Paul, go get him."

 

He ran as fast as he could, but they were bigger, and had longer legs.  He screamed and kicked, but they surrounded him, "Kid, we ain't gonna hurt you - somebody, go get Maria, or Jessica. Take it easy, kid, you ain't from here, are you?"

 

Artie shook his head, "No, I... some bad men grabbed me and I just... I want my  _daddy_."

 

"Shit. Jason, call the cops.  _Yes_ , the cops. Manuel, Federico, you, go see if you can find where he come from. C'mon, little man. We'll get you to your daddy, okay? What's your name?"

 

"Arthur," Artie said, "Arthur Gutterson. My dad's Tim. Can I use your phone? I know his number."

*

Tim growled at the police officers - currently, he was cuffed to Raylan (he refused to reflect on how _that_ had happened, but such a moment of weakness would  _never happen again)_ , which pissed him off to no end, and second, one of the FBI people recognized him from a buddy  _he_  had in the CIA, so they'd confiscated his phone, seen the target, and...

 

Well, this was just a shittastic day, and he was going to kill someone before it was over.  He was going to have to, and then he was gonna wind up in jail.  Right now, it was looking like the lucky soon-to-be-stiff was FBI Special Agent McCain, who was sounding so understanding and calming that Tim just wanted to shove bricks down his throat. 

 

"I  _knew_  somehow I'd wind up bein' the bad guy," he muttered to Raylan, who was only slightly less pissed off and worried than he was.

 

"Y'aren't the bad guy," Raylan replied quietly, "Not until you do somethin' stupid."

 

His phone buzzed, and the FBI waved to each other to be quiet. Tim gritted his teeth as they answered it - "This is Special Agent McCain of the FBI. Who am  I speaking to?"

 

"Da-... isn't this my daddy's number?" Artie sounded panicked.

 

Tim lunged for the phone, "You give me that  _now_ ," he snarled, and Raylan's draw hand flicked out, scoring the phone and passing it to him smoothly.

 

"Artie, sorry about that. It's me. Are you okay?"

 

"I'm okay," Artie sniffled, "I crawled out a window, and I'm with a whole bunch of people and a mom, you  _said_ to find a mom..."

 

"I did, good job kiddo. Can I talk to her?" 

 

"Y-yeah. Can you come get me? I'm scared."

 

"Honey, I'll be there before you know it."

 

A woman's voice came next, " _Hola_. My name's Marie, we found your son walkin' around, and he said he got kidnapped?"

 

"Yes, ma'am. Can you give us an address so I can come get him?"

 

"Yes, yes, and my son Jason, he already called  _la policia._  Your son is safe, Mr. Gutterson, we will watch out until you get here.  Can he have an ice cream? He said to ask."

 

"Yes ma'am, he sure can. Thank you."

 

...maybe nobody was going to have to die just yet. Possibly.

 

Tim conceded the necessity of traveling via LEO vehicle, and Raylan got them loose.

 

He closed his eyes, considering the next move.  Hospital, that was first, and then home to bed for Artie, and out for a 'run' for him. Pick up a burner, call Bentley, and see how many chips he could cash in.

 

You don't threaten a professional into working, not if you want to stay in business... or alive.

 

He'd get that particular patch of earth scorched, Raylan's eyes boring into him he _damned_. 

 

*

Artie wasn't hungry, but Maria had been nice and given him a popsicle, so he sucked on it and drank his water, watching the men mill around outside. Police showed up, and a nice lady officer came and talked to him and Maria, while some others went with the men.

 

He told them which alley he'd come out of, and the color of the house, but he refused to go with them.

 

Another police car pulled in, and his dad came out.  Artie dropped his popsicle and ran, "Dad!"

 

 _Nothing_  was more important than getting to his father.  His dad picked him up like he was still little, and if his dad was crying, well, it was okay for him to cry, too.

 

*

Tim swung his son into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest and burying his face in his neck, "Artie,  _baby._ "

 

"Dad, dad," his arms were around Tim's neck, half choking him, "I knew you'd come get me - don't kill anybody, dad?"

 

...well,  _shit and goddamn goat-fucking._

 

"Who said anythin' about killing anybody?" Tim asked, looking down at his son's face. The question came out before he could stop himself, and he shook his head. Who cared who said it? It'd been said... he couldn’t deal with it now, and there was no fixing it. Ever. You couldn’t fix his shots.

 

His son was bruised up good, and he traced his fingertips over it lightly, holding him on his hip. He was getting too big for this, and Tim wasn't all that tall, but he could do it for now, and he didn't seem to want down. "How's your head? Anything else hurt?"

 

"I hurt my arm when I fell out the window," he held it out, and Tim sighed, looking at the bruises and frankly impressive swelling. Yeah, that was reminiscent of his own arm, first time he'd broken it. "And they said you were gonna kill somebody for them and then they were gonna kill you, because you killed somebody they liked." Artie’s voice quivered, “Dad?”

 

"Ambulance should be here soon, buddy, and we can go to the hospital." Fuck.  _Fuck._  He glanced at the officer, "Look up my record," he said tiredly, "I was a Marshal, and a Ranger, and a US Military contractor, so..."

 

"We're still probably going to need you to come back to the station, sir."

 

"Try 'you're going to have to send somebody with him in the ambulance' instead," Raylan said before Tim could open his mouth to inform them that on the fifth day of Fucktober he'd be going to the station! 

 

"And you are?"

 

"Deputy Marshal Raylan Givens, ma'am."

 

"This is  _not_  Marshal business." Raylan’s smile showed teeth and he shifted his weight, ready to jump into this fight like he did every fight – head first and gun ready. 

 

Not today. Today, Tim was just tired.

 

"We," Tim snapped, holding Archie closer, "Are  _his_  business. So why don't you go strongarm somebody else who hasn't just had one of the..." goddamn it, Artie was crying on him, and he turned away, pressing a kiss to the unbruised side of his face.  No more yelling. 

 

"I lost my shirt," Artie sniffled.

 

"I see that."

 

"Do you think we'll find it? It had Optimus Prime on it."

 

"If we don't," Raylan said, "I'll make sure to get you a new one. Optimus Prime is the... jet, right?"

 

Tim and Artie's expressions were identical as they said, " _Semi Truck_."

 

"The jet," Artie said, "Is a decepticon."

 

"Bad guy, right?"

 

" _Yes._  Dad, can we watch Transformers when we go home? I need to show Raylan everybody again."

 

"Sure thing," Tim said, "It might be a while, but when we go home, we can watch it."

 

*

Artie wasn't feeling too good after they got done at the hospital.  There were way more needles than he liked, the medicine made him very tired and a little sick, and he'd been brave for hours and hours and hours, and all he wanted was to go home.  Dad's shirt was warm, though, and smelled like his aftershave.  He burrowed further into it, trying to hide. 

 

Dad looked upset and held onto him very tightly, and Raylan was holding onto both of them as the police came and talked to dad two or three times about killing people. "Not in front of my  _son_ ," dad said, and they looked at Artie like they'd forgot he was there.

 

"Will you come down to the station with us?" Artie grabbed his father's wrist and held tightly, determined to start screaming if they tried to take him off.  Raylan was angrier than Artie had ever seen him as Dad picked Artie up again and held him like a baby. 

 

"He's scared, he's had a horrible day, Tim hasn't done a  _thing_  - for god's sake, he and his son are the  _victims_ , here."

 

"We just need a fuller picture..."

 

"You want a fuller picture, get the low-lifes who did this.  Maybe start  _there."_

 

"Send an officer home with us," Tim said, "But please. My kid needs to go home and have some normalcy and sleep."

 

"Yeah, okay," the man in the suit nodded, and Dad stood up.

 

"Ready, bud?"

 

"Yeah. Maybe Transformers tomorrow, after school?"

 

"Mm. Okay." Dad carried him out of the hospital, and they got in another police car.  Artie poked at the cast on his arm, amazed that something that had felt so goopy going on had gotten so hard. 

 

He was gonna get  _everybody_  to sign it. 

 

*

Tim ignored the officer- let Raylan handle them! And got Artie cleaned up, convinced him to eat a peanut butter and fluff sandwich with milk, and put him to bed.  He selected the stories carefully- they were older ones that Artie had loved as a toddler, instead of continuing on with the chapter book they were working through.

 

Sometimes it was nice to have some comfort, and Artie looked content.

 

He read until his son was asleep, then genes out the lights and slid out into the hall.  Raylan was waiting, leaning against the wall.

 

"Made you sandwich," he held it out, and Tim took it, blinking back sudden tears. "Get that eaten, and let's get to bed." Tim nodded, folding the sandwich and eating it in three bites, grinning a little as Raylan muttered about him eating like a goddamn python.

 

He glanced at the clock- 11:45- and texted his supervisor to let him know he wouldn't be in in the morning.

 

Raylan tugged him to bed, and Tim was happy to go, twining around Raylan when they laid down, Raylan's hand kneading at the back of his neck gently. "Get settled down," he rumbled, "He's home and okay, Tim. And whatever shit we gotta worry about, well, that's tomorrow."

 

Tim buried his face in Raylan's throat- half-heartedly growling protest as Raylan bodily hauled him to lie on top of him.  It was too comfortable for him to complain more than a little about his wounded pride, though, and anyways, it wasn't like he was always a whiny, clingy little bitch...

 

God. What a day...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make me so happy! One more chapter - I had thought we'd be done here, but no! We are not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairy Godparents Need Not Apply.

Raylan petted him, trying to get some of the tension out.  Tim was shaking on top of him, and he pressed a kiss to his temple. "He's safe," he said softly, "We're all okay. Tomorrow he's gonna be excited to see his little friends and tell 'em about how he got kidnapped like in a movie, an' outsmarted 'em. He'll have 'em all signin' his cast- be a first grade celebrity."

 

He could feel Tim's smile against his neck, and felt it fall, just as quick. "They told him what I did," he said softly, "I don't know how... how I'm supposed to make him understand..." Raylan felt the trembling intensify, and he held his lover even tighter, "Raylan, he's so little, how's he gonna understand?"

 

"Honestly, I don't think it'll be as hard as all that. It's harder in your head, Tim, because _you…_ don't get pissed, okay?"

 

"Mm."

 

"I think," Raylan said slowly, "I think you have a hard time, sometimes, understanding what you been asked to do- not even touching the shit while you were out contracting."

 

"Never bothered me at the time." Tim scowled at him, offended at the implication he might not understand what he’d done.  Oh, he did. He certainly did.

 

"Well, sometimes it don't," Raylan said, "But I think maybe it does now. I think all you gotta do is - he knows you were a soldier, and a Marshal like me. You killed bad guys. That's all a kid like him will care about."

 

"Then why ask me not to kill those shitheads?"

 

"Because somehow, you done raised a compassionate little dude? I dunno. Maybe he thought you'd get in trouble. You gotta get calmed down, Tim... your heart's going like a triphammer."

 

"I want to go find them," Tim said quietly, rage a living thing that clawed at his chest and made him sick, "And beat them to death. I don't want to shoot 'em, too fast and too goddamn fuckin’ _easy._  They hurt him.  And I can't do a goddamn thi-"

 

"Dad?" Artie's voice had a little quiver in it, "Dad!"

 

Tim bolted out of bed, heading for the doorway.  Artie was in the hallway, clinging to his stuffed monkey. "Can I... can I sleep with you tonight? I thought I saw somebody outside my window and I got scared."

 

"I got it," Raylan said, heading down the stairs as Tim picked his son up and carried him back into their bedroom.  He got him situated, tucked up against his back as Tim laid on his side, facing the door.

 

The chances that there was someone outside was almost zero, but it didn't cost anything to check.  Raylan came upstairs a few minutes later, settling his gun beside the bed again, "Nothin' out there, sunshine. Just a bad dream."

 

"Can I still stay, Raylan?" his lower lip quivered.

 

"Well, I reckon we'd be offended if you didn't, seeing as how you're here now. It's like comin' to a party and only staying five minutes!" Tim smiled as Artie laughed and squirmed, kicking him in the kidney.

 

"Settle down," he said, "An' go to sleep."

 

"Night, daddy."

 

"Night." He rolled over to put an arm over his son, smiling at Raylan over his head as their fingers twined together.

 

Tomorrow could wait. For now... rest.

*

Artie insisted on going to school after lunch- they all slept late, and Tim even was feeling generous enough to offer the officer some coffee- and Tim let him go, although not without some concerns.

 

They were halfway to the school when Tim saw Bentley lounging against a wall by a four-way stop sign.  He stopped, and Bentley smiled, making an all-clear handsign before walking opposite the way they were driving.

 

Tim let out a breath he'd been holding almost a whole day now, eyes stinging in relief as he walked Artie into the school, signed him in, and headed back to the car with the officer still in tow.

 

Thank god Raylan hadn't driven with them to school- he wouldn't have missed that clear sign.  He  picked up Raylan and drove to the station to give their full statements , and accepted the effusive fucking apologies for their treatment of him.  Raylan snickered into his coffee cup, having come along just for this part of the shitshow.

 

Apparently, all Tim's shots checked out, and he was vouched for very high up. He glared at them in silence and shrugged- he could understand their fear.  He fit the profile of a hitman well enough, he guessed.  It was gratifying to know his buddies hadn't forgotten him... the FBI agent cleared his throat.  "While we can't be certain we caught everyone," he said, "Two men turned themselves in today, claiming responsibility and, ah, requesting protection."

 

"Protection?" Tim asked, already bored, but he could see Raylan's grin growing savage.

 

"There was... something of a massacre last night, in the neighborhood where your son was taken. And also, Miguel La Cruz was found dead this morning at his penthouse..." 

 

"Hoooly shit," Raylan said, beaming, "The cartel boss outta Columbia?"

 

...shit, Tim did remember this one. Yeah, he could see why Miguel would want revenge. After all, the CIA had hemmed him in a corner much like the one he'd put Tim in. Except Tim had pulled the trigger on that man's brother, Guillermo.  He'd been an easy target, and a disgusting human being.

 

Tim didn't regret it. 

 

"There were incriminating documents found on his body... well, pinned to his chest... indicating he ordered your sons' capture and that you be forced to either commit murder or allow your son to be killed.  We're checking the provenance now, of course, but so far, this is turning up to be one of the biggest blows the cartel has suffered in years."

 

He owed Bentley a drink.

 

"That all?"

 

"We know exactly where you were, and there's no record in your phone records of you ordering any of this, so yeah. That's all. Unless you want to tell us what happened...?"

 

"And do your job for you?" Tim smiled sweetly, "How about I just go back to- what was it you said yesterday, Detective? Oh yeah. Playin' in the woods!- and leave you big boys to take care of the scary murders."

 

Tim powered up his second laptop and logged into the darknet when he got home, sitting cross legged on the couch.  Raylan came out of the kitchen with a sandwich and frowned.

 

"Isn't that your-"

 

"My batcomputer, yep. Holy _shit._ ”

 

There it was, a private board of photos, locked to him.  No way to know who took them or trace them, but it was nice to see that Bentley took his work seriously.  Raylan looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.  "Think the message is pretty clear," he said neutrally.

 

"I think it is."

 

"How long do you think it took 'em to die from that?"

 

"Longer than they would've wanted," Tim said, "It's painful. One of our guys got killed that way. Was still alive when we got to him. Died on the flight back."

 

"Jeez." Raylan shook his head, "More than one guy to do this?"

 

"Marshal," Tim said, smiling a little up at his partner, "If you asked me how many gators it'd take to clean this up, maybe I could help you, but-"

 

"He's my son too," Raylan said, all humor gone, "If he'd died, you wouldn't be the only one grieving.  Even if you and I broke it off tomorrow, I would still want to see that boy.  The deputy isn't here, any more than he was when Nicky Augustine died on the tarmac."

 

"Four," Tim said, dropping his eyes.

 

"Just four? There's... how many did they kill?" He peered at the photos.

 

"I count seven, plus Miguel and somebody else in that building that the Feebs don't realize is dead yet."

 

"Damn. How..."

 

Tim set aside the laptop, "So, you grab like this," he wrapped an arm around Raylan's neck and chest, "Dig your fingers in right here. Right arm's useless. Then you take your left, and you start here," he traced with his thumb, "Cutting behind the ribs. You get lungs, spleen, liver, and stomach.  If you're feeling nasty, you can just take the liver and stomach, but that's a big risk."

 

"God," Raylan said, "But they'd've fought?"

 

"Look to have all been disarmed and brought into the room to finish," Tim said, "One man on knife, everybody else on guard."

 

"Rangers lead the way all right."

 

"Two rangers, one delta, one 101st," Tim corrected, "I know the crew.  You've met 'em."

 

Raylan tilted his head, considering, and then his eyes went wide. "...Artie's godparents?"

 

"One an' the same. I couldn't get him fairy ones, so I settled for-"

 

"Fucking vengeful mother fuckers?"

 

"I think I picked well."

 

"I think you did too... likely to be any blowback?"

 

"I think," Tim said slowly, "Artie's college is likely paid for now? But otherwise, no.  They'll stop by, one at a time, over the next couple months. But there's no way this'll be pinned on 'em.  Too good at what they do, and also, I bet you good money they made sure to tell whoever's taking over for Miguel what they were doin'- and why.  There's a sort of, ah... professional respect? That'll be accorded. I mean, shit, what happened yesterday was the height of bad idea for them. They let business get personal."

 

He deleted the cache, and posted to a message board- brief thanks, and a reminder that those in search of a shooter should be advised he was still retired, fuck you all very much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed this installment in the series - if you feel like leaving me a comment, it would bring me great joy!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment! They make me happy.


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